You Make Me Happy (whether you know it)
by beaner.weener
Summary: You've heard the story of Mister Jonathan Teatime, Assassin. You've probably seen some fanfictions pairing him with Susan Sto Helit. This is one of them. But I'll bet you haven't heard of Audrey Sto-Helit (but call her Teatime), a time traveler with an interesting background. Have a little faith, and happy reading! Rated T for Teatime. Not kidding.
1. Prologue: Of Interesting Beginnings

**Prologue**

The eye stirred.

The eye had been called a marble numerous times over the course of two and one half days, and it was getting a little bit tired of it. But the duchess knew what it was. A scrying crystal, capable of seeing the past and the present. Incredible power that in the wrong hands could be disastrous.

The eye disappeared.

Relocated, rather. It popped out of one location and straight into another. That second location happened to be the eye socket of Mister Jonathan Teatime, former Assassin, deceased. For a while.

The body of Mister Teatime relocated, as well, out of the morgue and into a Necromancer's office.

Mister Chainlin was a Necromancer. The capital N was necessary. It differentiated those with the talent for speaking to the dead from those who pretended and ran a company out of it, which is what Chainlin did for a living.

And at the moment, Chainlin was scared out of his wits, looking at a black clad man with blond curls.

The man had appeared on his desk. He hadn't appeared to be breathing, until Chainlin tentatively poked him, at which he snorted.

Chainlin made the mistake of poking him once more, and the man's eyes shot open. Chainlin gasped. He didn't believe people actually _gasped_ until he did it himself. The man's eyes were mismatched in the oddest way: one was a strange black glass, the other was an off-white with a pinpoint-sized pupil. The man smiled.

"Hi. My name's Teh-ah-tim-eh. What's yours?" Teh-ah-tim-eh had a high voice, and a frightening knife in his fingertips. And at the same time Teatime was getting up off the desk…

…Susan Sto-Helit was laying the children down to bed. Twyla had been a problem when Susan had taken away the marble, but she was fine now.

Of course, Susan couldn't have the children playing with the eye of Jonathan Teatime, who had haunted her memory since Hogswatch. Something of the figure in stylish black just wouldn't work its way out of Susan's head, and was irritating the Death out of her.

Yes, with Susan's family heritage, she was permitted to say that something irritated the Death out of her. Of course, she would have preferred to say that it irritated the life out of her, but since Hogswatch, she'd been siding with the odd rather than the normal. Constantly forgetting what doorknobs were for and not being able to go to sleep were just the first part of it, and the mild side.

Being a governess was something Susan normally enjoyed, but lately the doorknob bit was a slight inconvenience.

She hadn't noticed that the box containing Mister Teatime's eye had been acting strangely since she put the marble in it. Sapient pearwood was the wood for magical items, but the hinges were coming undone. At the same time Susan was closing the way for bogeymen…

…A slight girl of fourteen with curly blond hair was making her way through the Ankh-Morporkean streets.

Audrey was the type of girl nobody wanted to talk to for fear of getting hurt. She was the line between crime and punishment, between knowledge and power, between Time and Distance, and most people morbidly hated her.

They called her a freak, when unusual was the better word; they called her a psychopath, when, clearly, sociopath was the appropriate term; they called her insane when all she was was humanitarianly challenged.

These didn't bother her, though. No, what was the worst was when they called her Teatime when the correct pronunciation was, quite easily, Teh-ah-tim-eh, and _that's_ what irritated her.

But she was an Assassin, even if she _was_ partially...inconvenienced in the field of livelihood. And she loved every minute of it.

She opened the Guild door. "Downey? I have a proposal for you."


	2. Soup Shan't Be Eaten

Susan Sto-Helit rather disliked bars. She had enough dignity not to get drunk, and the typical Ankh-Morporkean bar fights were sparked by the strangest little things. Almost everyone Susan knew agreed that she was strung too tightly to become a bar regular. This one, however, served the best comfort food on this hemi-circle of Discworld. She gloomily picked at her chicken curry, normally her favourite. She had inherited _that_ trait from Death. The bartender dished out both food and drink alike over the course of the hour, and Susan half-listened for people whose names she recognized. One name, however, captured her sub-consciousness so strongly that her mind buzzed. Especially since it was pronounced wrong.

"Miss Teatime, your order."

Susan's head shot up.

"It's Teh-ah-tim-eh, sir. Everyone gets it wrong, sir," a female voice snapped as money exited a pale hand and a soup-to-go from the much tanner one of the bartender.

"Ah," the bartender cleared his throat. "Yes, I apologize, Miss Teh. Ah. Tim. Eh." He made a straining effort to pronounce every syllable of the name correctly. At this point, Susan's entire body was rigid. Her sense of hearing picked up barely audible footsteps leading to the door.

"Miss Teatime?" Susan called experimentally.

_Swoosh._

Miss Teatime was directly behind her. "Pardon?" asked the same sharp voice. It didn't have quite as much an effect on Susan, considering she was acquainted with Jonathan Teatime's high sociopath voice, but the female version didn't seem to care.

Susan did her best not to turn around and face Miss Teatime directly. "Um, do you have any…erm…I mean, are you related in any way to…um…Mister…Jonathan Teatime?" She whispered this last part. Honestly, she was quite frightened that at the mention of his name, he would return, dagger poised in hand, boyishly handsome curls framing his face. Susan caught herself in the middle of that thought.

_Don't get afraid, _she reminded herself. _Get angry._

"Why yes," said the voice, now more surprised than hostile, but regaining that edge in the next sentence. "How do you know of him?"

"I…uh…I spent a Hogswatch with him, about a year ago." Stuttering was very unlike Susan indeed, and she mentally chastised herself for being so openly nervous, clearing her throat. She lifted her head a little bit higher in mid-sentence.

"You…what?"

"I spent a Hogswatch with him, about a year ago," she said, in that over-confident way people are when they're not confident at all.

"So. Susan Sto-Helit, I presume?"

At this, Susan turned to face Miss Teatime. She was pretty much Jonathan in female, except more intelligent-scary than sociopathic-scary. Of course, she had that, too. Miss Teatime had two blue eyes, unlike Jonathan, but her hair was the same perfect buttery yellow. Even her face structure was the same. They were both, for lack of a better term, beautiful. The thing that threw Susan off, for a split second, was the fact that she had a single dark streak in her hair, starting near her temple.

Miss Teatime's blue pinpoint-pupil eyes bored straight through you with an air of extreme knowledge. And on the Disc, knowledge equaled power. Her blond hair was pulled back into an immaculate tight bun, but one could assume that her hair was just as curly as the former Assassin's. Her posture was as ramrod straight as Susan's. Perhaps she also shared the notion that in order to keep your position of power, you had to be stiff enough not to let nonsense in. She was definitely no-nonsense. Susan chose to answer her carefully.

"Yes. Who are you?"

"I'm just another creepy Teatime," she said in a low voice, then added briskly, "Unfortunately, you have done nothing to kill Jonathan. Some people just won't take a poker to the abdominal cavity as an answer, and Jonathan Teatime is one of those people. He summoned himself through his own scrying eye, the one that you have taken, Susan. I'll bet you didn't notice that it went missing almost immediately after Hogswatch. Some poor Necromancer believes it was himself that summoned Teatime. Actually, Jonathan is waiting in my flat right now. He _insisted_ that if I were to run across you, I bring you there."

"Oh, my."

"Oh my indeed, Susan. Come along."

Susan really felt reluctant to follow Miss Teatime (I mean, it's like:_ Hi, my brother tried to kill you, follow me! _). But there was something about Miss Teatime that made Susan trust her. Perhaps the absence of her brother. Or perhaps it was that purple-green glow that came from her blue eyes when she studied you. Susan had the oddest feeling she knew Miss Teatime.

Therefore, after a brief mental battle, Susan decided to proceed with caution (and proper weaponry, of course: she took one of those little ice pitchforks from the bartender). The flat wasn't too far down the street, only a few blocks, and only a few more blocks away from Susan's flat. It was a small building, and her flat was on the first floor.

The flat smelled of potpourri, a quite refreshing smell after the odour of the Pearl of All Cities. "I wonder what he could want with you," Miss Teatime mused.

"Well," began Susan. "Other than the fact that he's probably harbouring a very particular grudge against me for killing him, I don't really know."

"Oh, no, that couldn't be it," Miss Teatime dismissed. "He respects people with enough backbone to try at killing him. He finds them… fascinating."

"Trying and doing are two different things, Miss Tea-" Susan was cut short. A pair of slender, cold fingers were tracing their way down the base of Susan's jaw.

"Hello, Susan," whispered The Voice, mere inches away from her ear. The Voice as in, Teatime's voice, as in the Ultimate Assassin's voice, as in, That Random Sociopath Dude That Tried To Kill The Hogfather's voice. "Have you missed me?"

Now, the thing to understand: Susan had amazing self-control. Near nothing could make her breath catch, nothing could make her scream or gasp or cry out in fear.

Except Teatime. Susan was not pleased with herself, but she choked on the bit of air coming in, along with the bit of air going out. It was barely there, but it was enough. Teatime chuckled, and Susan's vision went purely red, but she focused on keeping her breathing regular from now on.

"How kind of you," he whispered, tracing his finger down the line of her neck and resting his hand on her shoulder. "To keep my eye in such perfect condition. It allowed me back into this world. However," Susan felt the prick of a dagger at the back hinge of her skull. "A poker to the abdominal wasn't quite as kind."

_Well, it's not my fault you decided to mess with the wrong Duchess._

He spun her around, quicker than her own blink. _Breathingbreathingbreathing-_

"I think we get along quite well, wouldn't you say, Susan?"

"I suppose, especially when there's a knife of some sort involved, yes."

Teatime smiled, then turned to face Miss Teatime. "Audrey, how in the world did you come across her?"

Miss Teatime arched an eyebrow and raised the plastic baggie. "Your soup," she said drily.

"Ah." He _swooshed_ over to her, picked the bag out of her hand, and cut the hair tie of her bun in one swift motion. Miss Teatime's butter-blond hair fell down her shoulders, every bit as curly as her brother's, who grinned.

"Loosen up a bit, dear, and you may go."

"I will stay." The glare between them was burning. Absolutely burning. But Miss Teatime turned away and began to put the kettle on, leaving Susan the only other point of Teatime's focus.

Indeed, he took advantage of that.

Susan's breathing had regulated, thankfully, but her heart was still racing. Teatime dropped the soup.

"So why," he circled her, his high voice still resonating in the air, "do you believe that we are not…friends?"

Susan remained silent.

"Susan, I would quite like an answer today."

"Well," she began. "For one, I killed you. Twice."

"Oh, but I admire that." Teatime traced a finger down the back of her neck, and Susan strained to make her hair stay in place. "It takes a certain genius to be an Assassin, especially the type with a capital A, but it takes the same amount, if not more, brilliance to kill one." He gripped her shoulders. If he was trying to be comforting, it wasn't working, and Susan told him so. The sharpness of something cold and metallic pressed against her back, and she did _not_ intend to find out what held it in place, considering both of Teatime's hands were on her shoulders. The fact that he was in front of her certainly wasn't helping. She could feel his breath, dangerously close to her, and then…the clock _dink_ed.

Teatime dropped both Susan and the ever-mystical dagger. "Oh, my, look at the time. I have business to take care of." In a swift _swoosh_, he was at the door. "But don't fret, Susan. I'll be back soon."

Susan held very still and listened to Miss Teatime clatter things around on the other half of the kitchen until she was certain Teatime was out of sight (and running distance), and then _clack-creak_ed into stovetop half of the kitchen.

Miss Teatime's kitchen was quite bland, a factor Susan hadn't been able to register with Mister Teatime poking and prodding and stroking her (gah, Susan shivered at that thought. How queer). It was an off-white, almost a pale yellow colour, and it consisted of a gas burner/oven, a sink, a cherry wood table and four chairs, and a quite out of place chrome plated toaster oven. The burner was on, a teapot whistling lightly on top of it, along with three cups next to it with an equal amount of black tea leaves inside each. The kitchen smelled slightly of potpourri, just like the rest of the flat, but it smelled like burnt-chicken potpourri. Susan managed to walk right up behind Miss Teatime, who was doing the dishes, until she spoke.

"Miss Sto-Helit," Miss Teatime began. "I need your help. Jonathan said that it takes brilliance to be an Assassin. This is correct, and he is really quite brilliant. A waste of such a perfect mind, because he's brilliant like-" she searched for the correct word, "-like a clock with no arms. The gears are still turning and doing their job, but you can't tell the time. Do you follow?"

"I believe so," said Susan slowly. "What you're saying, Miss Teatime, is that he's got a spectacular mind, but it's shattered, broken beyond repair."

"Call me Audrey, please." Another strange pronunciation to remember. Oww-dree. Oww-dree. "And here's the part about beyond repair: he's not. Nobody is ever, and I say _ever _beyond repair. I want you to help me. Help me…pick up the pieces, if that makes any sense. Get me the handles; I'll put them on the clock. I ran away from home because of what they did to Jonathan. I'm younger than him, quite a bit younger. I want to know what, precisely broke him. I want to know…I want to know how to fix it. He's quite probably one of the Disc's greatest minds, trapped within the outer layer of a child. "

The teapot _ffffwwwwweeeee!d_, leaving Susan for a split second of pondering before she answered. Her story had gaps, indeed. Her voice shook with uncertainty when she said "ran away from home". Not emotional attachment, but uncertainty, and Susan knew the two back and forth.

"Why do you trust that I am fit to do this?"

"Because," Audrey turned around. Her hair had miraculously been placed back into its impeccable bun, and her eyes were smoldering. Susan caught sight of her strange black streak curling on its own accord, but she dismissed that as an optical illusion. After all, her hair was in a bun. How can something twirl in a bun? "Because…you wouldn't understand. You don't see the way he looks at you, the way he thinks. The only way to survive around him is to keep yourself interesting: interesting, but not a challenge. Interesting…interesting enough to make looking at you and talking to you more fun than killing you. Either that, or be a Teatime, and that never protected our-our parents. No, Susan, you must keep interesting, and you-" she circled Susan in much the same way as her brother, "-you are very interesting indeed."

Susan observed that her voice shook again at the word 'parents'. _Hmm. _Pieces began putting themselves together in Susan's mind, but it was remembering the future again. The pieces were irritatingly blank, with the ghosts of information and pictures swirling within them. "Alright…I'm not totally stupid. You mean to tell me that...that I'm more _interesting_ than the rest? That I'm the only one that can be around him and stay alive?"

"Well," she pivoted sharply in front of Susan. "That, and the fact that you killed him. Are you in?"

Susan pushed her chin up a little bit higher. "Yes, I am."

"Very well. You may go, Susan, and remember: stay interesting."

Susan departed Audrey Teatime with a dazed mind. Going through the motions of life are different, much different than actually living, and going through the motions was all Susan was doing at the moment. That was, until she closed the door.

"Why, hello, Susan. Come hither, if you would."

Susan was fun. Mister Teatime (Jonathan, if you would) loved to watch her tense at his touch, his gaze, or even his voice. The best part was: he really had to _look_. She never openly displayed it, and it was always plenty of joy to strain his ears for that little gasp or sharp intake of breath. She was fun to watch, in general. He'd often watch her; just going through her everyday life with those two children. He had also observed her very carefully, and within that observation, there was a certain tactic to her normal motions: she _always_ kept some sort of weapon handy: poker or otherwise (she had been harbouring an ice pitchfork in Audrey's flat, he noticed). She thought it completely through before even making a single step. Her speech was calculated beyond belief.

Of course, Teatime had prepared for this encounter. After a quick stop with one of the Assassins (capital A), he decided to surprise Susan at her home. Oh, what _fun_.

He had made sure that the pokers were out of the way: hidden from their usual spot in the umbrella-rack. Hidden very well in outdoor shrubbery, in fact, where the gardener tomorrow would have a _very_ pleasant surprise.

He had, however, forgotten about the mallets, one of which Susan grabbed at the sound of his voice. Teatime mentally cursed: it was so unlike him to forget anything, even anything he'd never known about in the first place. _Especially_ anything he'd never known about in the first place. But he supposed it was worth it, Susan was practically trembling.

**HOW THE HELL**, Susan said in the VOICE,** DO YOU KEEP FINDING YOUR WAY INTO MY FLAT? **Thunder rattled at the windows, and half of her face shook with the Face of Death.

"My, my, we're certainly _emotional_ today." He traced her jawline with the tip of a finger. Teatime observed that she had a very strong jaw, and decided that he rather liked her jaw, especially when it was being held with so much force and…backbone, if that's not a horrible pun. Oh, yes, Susan _did_ have a nice jaw. It was the type that made her face look angular without being lanky, and it sat regally atop her long neck. Susan was really very pretty.

**GET OUT. NOW.**

"So soon? How about we play a game, Susan? I've been simply _dying_ to play a game."

"Like what, checkers?" Susan snorted. Ah, well. At least he had gotten her back to her normal voice.

"No, no, checkers is _boring_, and I'm simply _no good_ at Chess."

"Well, if you played it more often, you might be," she snapped.

"It's no fun when I'm losing, Susan, and-" he registered a small noise from behind Susan's back, "-and I swear, if you try to hit me with that mallet, I'll nail you with a poker."

"Oh, but that would be quite difficult, seeing that they're-" **IN THE BUSHES.**

_Crackle._

"Susan, you must learn to control that temper of yours, before you break a-" Teatime was stopped, once more, by Susan's hair, which was flowing upon its own accord, like a flower in the wind. Susan had pretty hair, too. "Your hair is moving."

**YES, IT DOES THAT**, she said. Her voice, even as The **VOICE**, was tinged in impatience, and she probably wanted desperately to use the mallet. "Now, if we could get back on topic, I'd greatly– oh!"

Teatime had reached out and touched a curling tendril of her hair, which was now wrapping its way around his slender fingers. In fact, her entire head of hair was gravitating towards him. Susan looked mortified.

"I think your hair likes me." Teatime's vision sharpened (with no consent from him, of course) so that he could capture every bit of her waving hair through his one good eye. Every single aspect of Susan was simply _fascinating_, he decided, and he might get to like her, perhaps even be _friends_ with her.

That would be fun.

"Susan," he whispered, her hair still coiling delicately around his fingers, "perhaps we can play a game such as Two Truths and A Lie."

"Why?"

"You're so…intriguing. I would love to know more about you."

Susan narrowed her eyes. "Well, I suppose, as long as you're not trying to kill me, that might be alright…" Her hair reached out towards his other hand as it firmly fastened his right one to her skull. He could feel her shiver as it pulled his fingers towards her. Personally, Teatime was still watching the hair, and had to have great faith that Susan would not use the mallet. The part that wasn't holding his hands to her head was clasped in a prim bun, which he thought Susan might approve of.

"Susan…do you have any control over this marvellous hair of yours?"

Susan glared at him.

"If I did, it wouldn't be touching _you_, now would it?"

Teatime _tsked_. "That wasn't very nice, now was it?"

"I'm not generally a very nice person."

"Oh, that's too bad. If you were, we could have so much fun." He used some of the remaining control of his hand to thumb out a small knife from his sleeve.

Susan took a breath. "Two Truths and a Lie, then? How about I make some cocoa?" The hair let go of him at the mention of cocoa, and flew around her head, quickly arranging itself into a tidy little twist. Susan's face (if you looked _really_ closely) looked relieved.

Over cups of steaming cocoa, they played Two Truths and a Lie, which eventually morphed into Two Lies and a Truth (don't ask. It involved a spatula). Teatime noticed that Susan was really very good at making cocoa, with just the right amount of milky creaminess to aid the rich chocolate.

The clock continued ticking. Teatime wondered why Susan hadn't shut off the time. Later, he realized, it was because she didn't want to be with him all that much.

"Your turn," he chirped.

"Mister Teatime, it's three in the morning."

Teatime studied Susan. Her eyelids were only half-open, she barely held her cocoa, and her quite nice jaw was drooped in a near-comatose state. Of course, he knew, she would never admit to being tired. She was more stubborn than a donkey. In about an eighth of a second, Teatime made up his mind.

"I'll be back," he whispered. "Tomorrow."

Susan gave him an attempt at a cheerful smile. "Until then, Teatime."

"Teh-ah-tim-eh," he corrected, then jumped out the window. And into the pokered shrubbery, mind you, but that was a problem none.

Audrey Teatime was a particularly strong-willed person, if you could consider her a person yet at all. She had to be, to maintain her position as an Assassin. The Guild required that their Special Interests Teams meet tonight, four in the morning. Er. This morning, four o'clock, if you please. The Special Interests Teams were the Teams consisting of Special Inhumations, Tactics, and Stealth Team (yes, all one team, there were only three Assassins in this Team); The Wizard Inhumation Group (oh, the joy); Elegance Undetermined-Infinite (which simply _refused_ to accept her); and the Anthropomorphic Personifications group (consisting of two Assassins). Many of the Assassins were in more than one group, if they were in one at all. Her and Jonathan were in Special Inhumations, Tactics, and Stealth and Anthropomorphic Personifications. In fact, they were the only two assassins who applied themselves into ways to kill Death. Everyone has their weak points. Non Timetis Messor.

However, most Assassins don't know that.

Audrey Teatime arrived to the meeting about a fifth of a second late, and slipped into her seat quite easily.

The thing about Audrey: she was living, but she had not been alive. She was not dead, but she had died (quite a few times, I may add). She and Jonathan were relatives, but not siblings. In fact, Audrey was directly related to both Jonathan Teatime and Susan Sto-Helit, but _they_ didn't have to know that. She was not _really_ an Assassin, but she had been Inducted. She also quite liked pepper spray, a bottle of which was put away in her black cloak (with the emblem of the Guild on it, of course).

Audrey had a brain, and she certainly knew how to use it, just as Susan did. Using that brain, she concluded that this meeting was about whether or not to eject (just a fancy word for kick out, Assassins quite enjoy fancy words) Jonathan from the Guild.

The Guild considered Audrey and Jonathan quite highly, even if one half of which hadn't happened yet. Inhuming the Inhumer was quite a challenge, and there was a certain logic to it. As long as Audrey kept that logic to herself, and made sure Jonathan never kept anything to himself, Death would be perfectly fine. Really, there was no need to kill Death. Because, then, the Assassins would be out of business.

There's quite a big difference between Assassins (capital A), assassins (lowercase a), and murderers. The difference between Assassins (capital A) and murderers and assassins (lowercase a) was mainly the large sum of cash that Assassins (capital A) were paid. Assassins (lowercase and capital A) were both different from murderers in the fact that an assassination, or inhumation, if you would, was a whole lot less messy than a murder.

The meeting went really pretty quickly, because Lord Downey was quite tired, even if he would never admit to it.

Ah, Downey. The look on his face when she had shown up in his office about two days ago and demanded to be let in.

"You're not part of the Guild."

"I am. But not yet."

What a crack up.

Jonathan was to stay. Mainly because he and Audrey argued nonstop with Downey and the others, partially because Downey was still terrified of Audrey. Jonathan didn't know how to argue, really. He had this high voice that nobody really took seriously, and his mind was so screwed that most didn't even consider listening. Which is a shame, because then, with very considerable regret, he'd have to kill you.

Audrey disappeared, and appeared later in her flat. It was four thirty, even, in the morning. Teatime, for Assassins.


	3. Assassin!

Susan Sto-Helit had absolutely no idea why she was back. Perhaps it was the fact that she knew if she did not return, they would come for her, upon much less amiable conditions. For this reason, she paused before knocking on the door. The thing about Susan: she knew she could make the door-molecules separate to make room for her own, but she refrained herself.

Then she brought her fist down on the wood.

Rephrase: she brought her fist down on what was supposed to be wood. It was the sort of wood that wasn't really wood at all, but wood making way for human. Like little tingly sensations, trying to climb up her arm but not succeeding any further past her wrist.

_Damn. I've forgotten how to knock._

"Hello," said a crisp, buttery voice. "How are you today?" It was the sort of question that was simply a pleasantry and required no physical answer, but the voice sent chills down Susan's spine. She closed her eyes and waved her hand around in the door for a second. Yes, the door was quite surely still intact. She stepped forward slightly. Yes, the concrete was still below her feet and solid.

Susan forced a smile and a pleasant voice, which was pretty hard to do once somebody had scared the living tea light candle out of you and you were quite cross with them. She ground her teeth together as she spoke to keep from using the **VOICE**. It was becoming a challenge to keep her hair in its tight bun. "Hello. How did you get out here?"

Susan could not, however, keep herself from seeing outside of herself via two deep blue pinpoint pupils, and pretty much lost control of all her Deathly powers after that. After all, the pinpoints didn't know the meaning of the word 'eyelid', so the word 'eyelid' did not apply to them.

Audrey Teatime was in full Assassin-wear: a silky black dress that ended like the shadows, slowly fading away. The effect made the dress look old and torn. She wore a cloak that was just as dark, embossed with the red mark of the Guild. The sleek result was quite ruined by a pair of bright pink duck boots.

**I APPLAUD YOUR TASTE IN FOOTWEAR. **Susan applied as much dryness into the sentence as could be had with the **VOICE**, and Audrey turned a violent shade of crimson. There were three pale little marks down her cheek: they looked exactly the pallor of old, deep scars. Susan didn't blink (the equivalent of blinking in Death's domain) and they were gone.

"I was going out," she said defensively. "To buy a new pair of combat boots. My good ones were ruined. I _highly_ suggest you _never_ trying to inhume someone who has constant access to hydrochloric acid."

**I SEE.** Susan raised a nonexistent mocking eyebrow. Audrey opened her mouth to speak again, but the voice that came out of it was high, male, and certainly not hers.

"Well, well, well. What have we _here_? Perhaps this little reunion would be more _enjoyable_ over a cup of tea?" Jonathan Teatime was standing in the doorway, smiling readily as his usual handsome self. The left side of Susan's head, the dominant logical bit, slapped the right side of Susan's head, the bit that had thought that thought. The right side slapped back.

After a second of this, the left side resigned to the fact that, yes, Susan thought Teatime…decently attractive. _Not bad looking_, the left side corrected. Then it tried to analyze Teatime's swift appearance, and failed, telling her at first that there was a large pink flamingo in stylish black standing in front of her. Then it told her that the flamingo was a panda, and then the panda was Jonathan Teatime. Her eyes zoomed in on Teatime's face, then to his glass eye, which was rolling in his eye socket. _Not unlike a marble at all._

As soon as Susan thought that thought, the eye rolled over and glared at her. It was a disjointed effect, considering the fact that his other eye was fixated on the point just above Audrey's head.

"Do…come in." He smiled brightly at Susan, but his tone wasn't as high as usual, radiating those nauseating "I'm the one in power" rays, and his posture was all saucy. Susan's hair liked it, and was gravitating towards him, bit by bit. Teatime's normal eye slid its over to her, as well.

Perhaps it was the drastic difference in their styles of thinking, but Susan's brain held a brief ethereal battle with Teatime's brain, to which Audrey's hand interrupted.

She waved an arm between the two. "Hello? I'll make tea."

The tea was alright. Actually: that was being too polite. It was horrible. Audrey didn't know how to make a proper cup of tea _at all_, and the biscuits were rock-hard and burnt. Susan supposed that it didn't bother either of them, because neither Audrey nor Teatime was drinking the tea. _Sometimes,_ Susan thought, _people just don't live up to their names_.

There was a small letter opener on the table. It wasn't much but a flat, dull piece of metal with a thicker raised handle. Next to it was a sheet of flatter, duller metal, a pair of tweezers, a candle, a box of matches, and bit of sandpaper.

Slowly, Audrey lit the candle. For a moment, she just looked at the lit match. For another creepy second, she looked like she wanted to eat it. Susan really didn't blame her: it would taste better than the biscuits, she was sure. _What is it with the Teatimes? A sociopath and now a pyro. Sometimes I wonder why I associate myself with them._

"I'm making a knife. Assassins' knives are like witches hats: they're just not the same unless you make them yourself." *

"Last time you tried to make a knife, you nearly blew your flat up," Teatime said in a songlike voice higher than his normal. Audrey shoved him playfully.

"Like _you_ have the space to talk. Last time you tried to make a knife, if I recall correctly, you nearly blew the Assassins' Guild dorms up."

Teatime sniffed. "Touché."

Audrey sighed. "The Guild meeting is tonight. The formal. I forgot about that."

"You're right," Teatime grumbled, then brightened for a moment. "Who are you taking?"

"What, _me?_ _I'm_ not taking anybody. But _you_ should take Susan." She nodded at Susan while still looking at her sheet of metal, which she was slowly shaping. Susan's hair nearly lost its will to twirl.

"Excuse me?" Susan spat. "No. I am not going to an Assassin's..._ball_ with you!"

Susan knew that she would end up going anyway. _Someone_ would end up dragging her there. She just hoped it wouldn't have to be the Teatimes.

Susan glanced at Teatime, hoping he shared her enthusiasm, which was in the negatives.

To her dismay, his eyes were widened, and he was smiling.

*Does this remind you of anything? Cough cough.

Zim: Why is there _BACON IN THE SOAP!?_

Gir: I made it mah-self!

He and Audrey literally had to _drag_ Susan to the formal, but she went. Teatime had to say, Susan fit right in with the Assassins. Black was definitely in her wardrobe, and, though he would never admit it out loud, she looked _good_ in it. After all, the required attire _was_ head-to-toe black. Except Audrey, for whom it was head to mid-foot black. Apparently, her good boots were ruined.

The Guild door was decorated for the Hogswatch party. Hogswatchnight would be in only a couple of weeks, and it would be the one-year anniversary of the Auditors of Reality's offer of 3,000,000 Ankh-Morpork dollars to inhume the Hogfather.

Teatime was more concerned about the fact that it was also the one-year anniversary of the time Susan nailed him in the stomach with a stick of fireside equipment.

Lord Downey was waiting right outside the Guild door, a few sprigs of evergreen in his hair from the wreath above, wearing a Hogfather suit.

Teatime raised an eyebrow at him. _Hogfather costume? Downey?_

"Ho, ho, ho! Happy Hogswatch! Jonathan Teatime-"

"Teh-ah-tim-eh," he corrected.

"Audrey Teatime-"

"Teh-ah-tim-eh," she echoed.

"And…guest."

"Susan," said Susan.

"Susan…" Downey waved his arms in the universal 'keep going' gesture.

Teatime caught Susan grinding her teeth together and shooting him a _you will pay_ glare out of the corner of his eye. "Susan Sto-Helit."

Downey checked them into the logbook and opened the door to the Guild lobby.

The interior wasn't very interesting, despite the fact that nearly everyone above the status of "peasant" and/or "beggar" in Ankh-Morpork was residing in it. Lord Havelock Vetinari (and his walking stick) were inhabiting a corner at the Leaders' Table, along with Archchancellor Mustrum Ridcully of the Unseen University, Samuel Vimes of the Watch, and what would presumably be Lord Downey at ten, when the formal closed. Anyone affiliated with the Guild in any way was invited to these formals, along with a guest. In turn, nearly everyone in Ankh-Morpork, their relatives, and some random people off the streets in surrounding cities would end up coming at some point or another. These events were always quite busy.

The table with the card that read _Teatime_ was in the corner. The ceiling and walls in that corner were crowded with cobwebs and dust. Susan raised an eyebrow at him.

"Is everyone in the entire _Guild_ in here, right now?"

"That and more," said Audrey. "Members are threatened-"

"Highly encouraged, in a strong voice, sometimes at knifepoint," corrected Teatime.

"-so they end up attending, and bringing guests."

They sat down on the rickety chairs. It wasn't that the Guild didn't like the Teatimes, or that the Teatimes didn't like the Guild. The Guild respected the Teatimes, even if they did have…_inconvenient _methods of inhumation that sometimes left a mess, because they _did_ do quite a thorough job. It was the simple fact that the Teatimes were content with anything Lord Downey gave them that made him run out of supplies when their name arose and suddenly find new ones when their name fell. In a way, Teatime thought, it was much more fun to make do with what little you had been given. The best bit was proving everyone wrong, doing more and better with your bits than they could do with their huge lots of supplies.

That bit was _fun_.

There was a silence. The curious sort of silence, in which the members of the silence glance back and forth at each other, all daring the other to speak first. Audrey coughed.

She was a strange girl, Teatime thought, slight in build and as skinny as Susan. There was something wrong with her eyes. They were blue. Normal eyes aren't blue. They have little streaks in them, bits of light and dark and other colours, sometimes even rings. Audrey's eyes were dead blue, the type a child might think of: no variety of any sort, no shadows or highlights. Just blue. Her hair resembled Teatimes: curly and bright blond, but she wore it in a tight knot at the base of her neck. She had a little dark streak in her hair, opposite the side of Susan's. It wasn't dark, really, just the absence of colour. Lord Downey had described her as being "mostly sane, most of the time…er…"

"I'll go get some punch," she said nonchalantly, and left the table.

More of that curious silence. Susan didn't seem to be herself today. Yesterday she had been fun. She had laughed and smiled and played Two Truths and a Lie. Now she stared at the waltzing Assassins, jaw clenched and eyes closed.

"Susan?"

No answer.

"Susan?"

No answer.

"Susan, are you dead?"

"No."

"Oh. Are you enjoying yourself?"

"No."

"Do you regret coming?"

"No."

Teatime took a moment to get his thoughts connected. "So…let me get this straight: you _aren't_ dead, you _aren't_ enjoying yourself, but you _don't _regret coming."

"Precisely."

Teatime pondered this for a moment. As far as he was concerned, if Susan wasn't enjoying herself, she should regret coming, which was how things normally worked on the Disc. However, Susan had demonstrated a lack of normalcy to which Teatime was quite confused. He was also quite puzzled about the fact that she wasn't enjoying herself, because _he_ was having a _great_ time.

"It's sort of interesting, though," she said after a while, "to see who came to an Assassins' Guild event. I didn't expect that many people to show up to a murderer's dance. There's even the Night Watch."

That bit was true. The Night Watch members were occupying the Watch table, still armoured and helmeted. At a time like this, you had to wonder who was protecting Ankh-Morpork: Vimes, the Watch, Vetinari…they were all at the formal. The Guild of Assassins seemed to have collaborated with the Guild of Thieves, which they had always done once a year. The Assassins' Guild would invite the Watch, the Watch would come, probably out of fear, and after 10 o'clock, when the formal closed, the Guild of Thieves would go and rob anybody they could.

This was another reason the people of Ankh-Morpork were eager to come to the formal: any seasoned Morporker would know that it was the only place they wouldn't get robbed.

Good business for the Guilds.

"Susan, do you want to dance?" Teatime followed her gaze to the ornate ballroom-like lobby floor.

**NO.**

"Why not?"

Susan sighed in exasperation. "Look, I don't want to be here, I don't enjoy dances or formals, and I never will."

"Well, someone told me that you didn't regret coming…"Teatime singsonged.

"Maybe I do."

"Well, you could have just said that in the first place and saved the both of us a whole lot of trouble," he said in the same childlike voice.

Susan bit her lip, eyes blazing deep blue. "Fine. I'll dance with you."

Teatime smiled.

The punch had been awful. Of course, Audrey had made worse, but the fact of the matter was that at a Guild event, the punch was supposed to taste better than burned scorpion.

The air of the formals had always been ominous, but it was seven times worse with an Assassin-in-training breathing down your neck. Audrey found this out the hard way. He had been there for five minutes now. Audrey knew that normal Assassins would leave after a little bit, figuring that you were too stupid to be aware of the lack-of-presence that was them. But this one was _relentless_.

"So…who are _you_ here with?" Finally, the Assassin-in-training had spoken. Audrey turned around. After all, Assassins were gentlemen, and it certainly wasn't polite to ignore someone when they spoke to you.

He was taller than her, but then, near everyone was. He was probably the same age, given his facial structure. His sleek brown hair looked like it had been vigorously smoothed, and he had green eyes. Under normal circumstances, he might have been handsome. But Audrey being sixteen years in the past from her own time was certainly not a normal circumstance. Also, she had the feeling he had been stalking her.

"I'm alone, thanks."

"But you're in-training, if anything. Too young to be an Assassin. And the Guild doesn't accept ladies for training, anyway."

Audrey bit her lip. Another glitch in the plan. It was getting harder and harder, meeting new people, and not spilling her guts. Downey had been a breeze, but Susan had been a headache, and now this boy was a hangover. Next one would be a stab to the stomach. It was getting harder to be normal, because normal here wasn't normal when she was, and the Normal here was all wrong. It wasn't her Normal, which was only capitalized because it was her Ultimate Normal. "Not yet," she muttered under her breath.

"What?"

"I'm an Assassin," she said quietly.

The boy's jaw dropped. "That's not how it's supposed to work."

"I know."

He shook his head. "You must be special."

"No. Not special. Just connected."

"So…you've graduated?"

"Yes, but not yet."

"Ah." He smiled. "So you _are_ still a hopeful."

Audrey shook her head. "No, I'm done. Just not _yet._ It's sixteen years before my graduation, but I'm fourteen years old. And I graduated two months ago."

The boy's eyes went crossed for a minute. "You're weird."  
Audrey shrugged. "Yeah, well. I can live in black and stop time and walk through walls and-" TALK THAT TALK "-and be a little bit immortal, sometimes, when I need it, and my face is all messed up when I get angry. And sometimes I'm a little thinner than humanly possible, and I can also differentiate between shades of black and feel the minds of the Roundworld and have tea with your soul and remember things that don't happen to me fifty years from now. So yes, weird would be an excellent word to describe me."

He extended his hand, eyes still crossed. "M'name's George."

Audrey shook it. "Call me Teh-ah-tim-eh."

His eyes snapped back into focus, and he glanced at the bickering Susan and Jonathan behind her in the gloomy Teatime corner. "No wonder your weird. You're one of those psycho-murderer Teatimes. I'd heard there was a new one."

"Not for a couple years."

He threw his hands in the air. "I give up."

"I'm an apathetic Assassin. I'd kill you if I cared." She twirled him around twice and shoved him on his way with a little _toodles_ wave. "Buh-bye!"

The Teatime corner was empty when Audrey returned. She scanned the lobby just as the clock struck ten. Lord Downey promptly walked through the door and closed it. Later in the evening, he would open it for the traditional angry mob. Or was that him Audrey was remembering? She shook her head like an Etch-A-Sketch: like she could just erase the thoughts she didn't like and keep the ones that made sense. The confusing ones had intensified since she'd come back, a strange type of déjà vu that hadn't happened to her. She could describe it as the feeling that this hadn't happened to her before before. Before.

Sometimes it made her want to repeatedly slam her head on a table.

Audrey managed to locate Susan and Jonathan without as much of a nonexistent headache. They were dancing on the crowded floor, carefully avoiding all the mistletoe spots (there were five), Jonathan grinning like a monkey, Susan frowning like…well, like Susan. Audrey smiled at the two. Her job would be over soon, she knew, and then she would be able to return to the place of headaches only most of the time.

And it's not like they were putting up much of a fight. Audrey was quite disappointed in Susan for not questioning every single aspect of her existence. She'd also bought Audrey's alibi with nearly _no_ convincing. But it was easier that way. _No, _she shook her head. _It _will_ be easier that way. You're getting your tenses mixed up again._

Audrey stared after Susan and Jonathan for a while longer. Susan's expression never really changed, but it did change a little bit under the over of the under of the surface. It got a bit less like a _this-man-is-a-sociopathic-murderer-please-help-me _frown and a bit more like a _he's-annoying-but-that's-all_ frown.

At midnight, the formal would wind down, and the Guild of Thieves would return. You would be able to hear, them their offices are right above the Guild Lobby. And at one, the formal would recede. Yes, indeed. This was one of the most exciting things in Ankh-Morpork. How sad.

And at one, Audrey was surprised to find George still stumbling around, cross-eyed. _Poor boy really is an idiot._


	4. How to Knock An Assassin Out with a Book

**Chapter Three**

Susan was exhausted. It wasn't that she needed the sleep, really, because she didn't but she had trained herself to think she needed it, therefore making her theoretically tired at the moment.  
That Assassin's ball had really taken it out of her. Teatime was a ridiculously fast dancer, and somebody had obviously spiked the punch when Lord Downey wasn't looking. Susan had a rather impressive hangover. It was impressive to someone not experiencing it, that was. She felt like she was repeatedly banging her head on a wall every time she moved.  
Because of that, she stayed at her flat that day. Not to the Gaiters or the Teatimes.  
The Teatimes, however, did come to her.  
It was about five in the morning; Susan couldn't sleep even if she was ridiculously tired, just because of her mental clock. There was a scarcely-there rattling at the window. Slowly and very carefully, Susan turned her head around, wincing at every degree.  
"Hi, Susan!" The cheerful and bright voice made Susan roll her eyes. He'd had almost as much punch as her last night, so why was he not suffering? It wasn't like it was her fault anyway; she hadn't noticed the fact that the punch was spiked, which proves the stealth of Assassins. Think, it could have just as easily been poison.  
He, however, had probably known about the adding of alcohol to the punch. He had likely been the one to do it.  
"Teatime," Susan mumbled.  
"Now you know," he warned, climbing in through the window. "It's pronounced Teh-ah-tim-eh, Susan."  
"And you know this is my house," replied Susan. "Though that doesn't seem to bother you all that much."  
"No," he chirped, smiling brightly. "Not a bit!"  
Susan took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She counted slowly to twenty.  
"What are you doing?" Teatime asked, somewhere in between fourteen and fifteen. Susan didn't respond, pretending to not have heard him. "You're boring me," he announced at eighteen.  
"You're irritating me," snapped Susan.  
Teatime cocked his head.  
"Hey, how's everyone doing?" The sudden voice kick-started Susan's reflexes, and she whipped her head around, immediately followed by a pressurized pounding. Audrey Teatime was doing her typical work, just hanging on a window. She was keeping herself up by leaning on her forearms nonchalantly. She certainly wasn't the one of the two that would aggravate Susan, so Susan replied with a simple command. Pleasantries, of course, were for those who were not of the "bony" persuasion.  
GET HIM OUT.  
Audrey's face twisted in sympathy. "Punch got to you?"  
Susan didn't respond.  
Audrey hoisted herself up over the window and into Susan's house. She was still wearing her Assassins' cloak and bright pink duck boots, but the dress was much more casual Discworld wear: a Victorian shift that, despite its drapery, was likely very light and easy to walk in.  
"Oh, Susan, don't be a sourpuss, life is for the living!'  
Susan arched an eyebrow.  
Audrey took a breath. "Okay, maybe not the best expression to fit your certain circumstances, I admit, but what I meant to say was that you shouldn't let it get to you."  
Susan sighed. She was right, of course, and Great A'Tuin stopped for no-one. "So," she said, attempting to be more cheerful, though the omnipresent hammering in her head was seriously not helping. "Why are you two here?"  
Audrey looked at Teatime. Teatime shrugged. "I was bored, and Susan's so good at games." He leaned down, dangerously close to her, and whispered in a low, powerful voice, "Let's play a game, Susan, games are fun."  
Susan thought about snapping at him, but immediately remembered who she was speaking with. Two crazed Assassins, one of whom is holding an incredibly dangerous and sharp looking stiletto and has an inclination to games. The other is wearing pink boots.  
The fact Audrey wore pink boots somewhat reminded Susan of her mother, Ysabel. She had stayed in Ysabel's room once before, and everything left behind had been various shades of pink. There had been a few chocolates, as well.  
Chocolates. Susan needed chocolates. No nougat, of course.  
"What sort of game? Chess?" Susan suggested hopefully. If there was one thing she could deal with at a time like this (other than chocolates, of course), it would be a friendly game of chess.  
It was a practical game, and that was the sort of thing Susan was good at. She didn't think Teatime would actually agree, of course, for the fact that he seemed to prefer more abstract games with less rules to follow. But the Assassin just shrugged.  
Susan's eyes lit up. "There's a board in the cabinet over there."  
Teatime extracted a black-and-white chess board from a cabinet on the wall of Susan's room.  
"Set it over here." Susan pointed to a nightstand near her bed. "Now, do you know how to play chess?"  
"I think not," Audrey smirked. She wore the expression of someone quite pleased as to where this conversation would be going later on.  
Susan began to explain the rules of chess, occasionally being stopped to answer silly questions and re-explain herself a few times.  
Teatime looked extremely confused, but eventually gave in and said, "Alright. I think I understand now."  
"Good," said Susan, whose head was still screaming against her. Audrey watched the two with a curious expression. "Let's get started. Here we go." Susan moved her pawn up two spaces.  
The game had begun.

* * *

Teatime didn't like chess, not at all. He didn't understand it all that well. Why did the knight have to move in an L shape? Why not just run and stab and get it over with? Why couldn't pawns kill anyone directly in front of them? What, could they not look straight or something? What was their issue? And the queen! No queen on the Disc at all would be so active. Bishops only moved diagonally, and when you got a pawn to the other side you got one of your players back, and the king was ultimately the most important player on the board, but he couldn't do anything at all, the queen did all the work. Towers could move up and sideways, but they couldn't do what bishops did, and only the knights were the ones that could skip over another player. You could castle with a king and a tower, but only if neither had moved yet. Pawns could only move two spots at once at the very beginning. Even without the Assassin game pieces, this was had to remember all of this while keeping your opponent from completely annihilating you. And his opponent was Susan.  
Now, in any normal game, he would have beaten her through and through. She was no match for him on the physical front (that's what he thought at the moment, at least), even if she did drop him off a tower and kill him and everything. He was faster than her, inertia and the speed of light and all of that had absolutely no effect on him whatsoever, and she was bound by her own mind by the laws of the Disc. He didn't know why in the world she chose to obey them.  
But it was a weakness. Possibly her only weakness. Teatime would exploit it when it was convenient.  
He was still fuming about the incident with the Hogfather. He could have snapped her neck, but settled for pulling her hair, he could have killed her a million times over, but he chose to keep her alive, and in the end she had no such mercy. It was his weakness, but he knew about it. He knew his weaknesses and would keep them away from people like Susan.  
Another weakness of his was chess. He had lost three games to Susan before he admitted to not understanding the rules of the game.  
Susan explained them again.

"But why can't the king move as much as the queen if he's that important to the game? Is he…disabled?" Teatime tilted his head.

Susan sighed, for the millionth time that morning. "Alright, let's go with that." Audrey shifted.

"By chess rules," she clarified, "The knight is drunk and the pawns can't see straight, and the tower is one of those South Klatchians* that can't walk right and the bishop has balance issues and the king is disabled and the queen has ADHD."

Teatime glared at her. His forehead felt odd, like his eyebrows were fused together. If one furls them together for too long and too hard one tends to get that feeling.

Susan won this round in four moves.

"Why don't we play another game, Susan?" he asked lowly. "Something a little less-"

"Mentally demanding?" she said with a small, satisfied smirk.

"Chess like," he corrected.

"Chess-like," she repeated. "So that leaves out checkers, Counterweight-Continent checkers**…" Susan ticked a few more games off the list, then glanced at the Teatimes expectantly.

Audrey was examining her steepled fingers.

Teatime stared back at her, mismatched eyes oddly opened and small, childlike half-smile playing on his lips.

"What is there left?"  
Teatime thought for a moment. Susan was right, after chess and other games of the sort there wasn't much left that they hadn't done. Word games were always fun, but there were so few.  
"Do you have a Scramble*** set?"  
Susan nodded and pointed to the same cabinet the chess board had come from. "I have a lot of games. Gawain and Twyla like to play them."  
Scramble would be interesting. It was him and her and Audrey, all three of which could do calculations at the speed of light.  
It would be a quick game, full of glances that tried to read others. Teatime knew because he was dealing with both Susan and a slightly different model of himself.  
The first word on the board was a good one, brought in by Audrey: quintessential.  
Quack.  
Tassel.  
Ligament.  
And so on and so forth, until they were near out of space on the board.  
And again, and again, until the sun was high over the Disc and none of them had anything to say.  
This was fun, Teatime thought. Playing games with Susan was always fun. It always had been. Demanding games like chess weren't as much fun as Two Lies and A Spatula or Scramble. But they were something. They kept Teatime from getting bored. When Teatime was bored, things never went well. Of course, they made him infuriated, which was a whole different course of events, but they weren't specifically the ones that happened when he got bored.  
Susan put down the final letter of ankhstone and glanced at Audrey, who looked like she had been struck by a brilliant idea.  
"Do you know who would make a great Assassin?" she asked Teatime.  
Teatime shook his head lightly.  
"Susan," she whispered loudly. "Susan would make a great Assassin."  
The room went silent.

*Egyptians

**Chinese Checkers

***Scrabble

* * *

"I would not," was the blatant, flatly spoken first thing that came out of Susan's mouth, a few long cricket noises later.  
"Oh, come on," Audrey said, getting off the bed and pacing. "You're the granddaughter of Death; you were made for the job! I mean, you're practically Death himself, and who could be better at killing people than Death?"  
"Not me!" Susan shook her head. "I'm bloody miserable with myself for even speaking to you people, and being seen with you in public. And I'm a noble! What would they think? What would they think,if the Duchess was an Assassin?"  
Alright, admittance was that the idea didn't come totally out of Audrey's head. It came a wee bit from the past, a wee bit from the future, and a wee bit from what was happening right then on other places in the Disc. And its placement in a game of Scramble was slightly…odd. But it was brilliance. Audrey didn't really mind taking credit for other people's brilliance, since they would have never come to the conclusion themselves anyway, because then a brick would have an absolutely brilliant idea and not be equipped to put it into action. Audrey was saving a brick from a headache.  
She was an Assassin that liked to help people.  
Inanimate objects, people, what's the difference?  
Teatime nodded his head enthusiastically, and swung Susan off her bed into a waltz. "What a charming notion! Eminently practical, and yet appropriate as always! You'd make a wonderful Assassin, Susan," he said energetically. "Inhumations don't do themselves, and contracts are being put on hold every day. We always need the extra help!"  
"No-" Susan interrupted.  
"Oh, come on now!" said Audrey, pumping enthusiasm into her words like morphine into a patient.  
"I'd be murdering scum, like the rest of you!"  
"Oh, no, no, Susan, being an Assassin is much different from being a murderer," she assured. Some people, no matter how all-knowing or intelligent they were, just couldn't seem to get it right. Being an Assassin was walking the thin line between being a friendly hitman and an expensive thug.  
"How's so?" Susan raised an eyebrow, then turned to Teatime. "And would you stop spinning me around like a lunatic!" Teatime let her go.  
"Well, Susan," Audrey paced with more vigor. "Tell me how you would go about inhuming someone? With elegance, of course," she added as an afterthought.  
Susan, still blinking to relieve dizziness (Teatime was a viciously fast dancer), replied, "I guess I'd just…I mean, I might…I suppose I'd simply kill them and get on with it, right?"  
Audrey shook her head. "This is the difference. Assassins would rather get them into bungee jumping and hope for an accident."  
"Still—no." Susan shook her head.  
"Such a shame…" said Teatime wistfully. "I guess I'll have to kill you then!" The last bit was obviously more cheery than the first one. Susan looked at Audrey.  
Susan looked at the space where Audrey used to be.  
Audrey had disappeared down the street into one of the Guild buildings. Her fate, of course, was predetermined, and Audrey knew the outcome. Well, if the Fates changed their minds, she would be popping out of existence in a few minutes anyway.  
Audrey figured that for the large sum of cash she had paid Fate, Fate would likely be keeping its promises.  
She hoped so.  
Audrey looked out of the window upon whose sill she was sitting. The scenery around the Guild of Assassins was quite impressive: the space where the Alchemist's Guild was up until a couple of years ago, the Thieves' Guild, the Guild of Joculators and Fools.  
"Hi," whispered a voice from behind her.  
Audrey had no comment.  
"Hi," it whispered more insistently.  
Audrey figured it was George. He was an irritating boy, one who didn't quite know where to stop. At least he was a creative Assassin, not quite conforming to the beat to death rules, but not quite breaking them either.  
George had sensed her alertness, and continued on with his story, because he was absolutely positive she was listening.  
"Is it possible for an Assassin to accept a contract on an Assassin?"  
Audrey blinked. "I…there's nothing in the rules against it, no, I don't think so. Why?"  
"Because I've been offered three hundred thousand dollars to inhume you. Three hundred thousand dollars and an early Guild acceptance." He flicked a knife to her throat. "So good luck."  
Audrey couldn't help but smile. "The good luck belongs to you," she replied.  
George dragged his knife against her neck, lightly enough to put in a sharp imprint but also light enough to not draw blood. Audrey looked at him.  
"Don't bother with all the tricks in the book, because I know them. Don't bother trying to be inventive, either, because I knew long ago what you would employ."  
George stabbed her.  
What used to be her.  
"Back here," she said casually from her spot leaning against a bookshelf. George turned slowly.  
"How to use Majik," mused Audrey. "The Art of Olde Cooking. Spells of Time. 10 of the Scariest Things on the Disc. How to Avoid the 10 Scariest Things on the Disc. Ah, here we are. How to Knock an Assassin Out with a Book."  
Audrey chucked some book at George's head. Funny, she had announced what she was going to do ahead of time, and he still hadn't suspected a thing. It was one of the tools of the trade of inventive Assassins. You'd walk up to someone, announce that you were going to kill them, and while they were musing the prospect, you shoved a knife up their ribs. It worked every time.  
George was out cold, for maybe for ten hours if she was lucky. It had been a heavy book, and it had hurtled at him at terminal velocity.


	5. AN: I Am Through

**PEOPLE OF FANFICTION**

**I HAVE A PREDICAMENT**

I sincerely apologize if you like my fics, but I have reason to believe that my writing days are over.

I have developed a severe case of writer's block. It has put Happy and How to Save a Life on hold. It has ruined my connection with the gods for Ask the Olympians.

I've tried everything. I have done a writers challenge, a new short story, writing prompts, hiatus, description challenges, tea-and-yoga days, scrabble, so on and so forth. How to Save a Life was nearly a month long project, in attempt to get the block to leave. All I manage to do is to fall .

It's gotten to the point where even forming correct sentences takes a huge amount of thought. This note is hard to write. I cannot be of much use as a betareader anymore. I manage to read things in my old conscience, but I wouldn't be able to fix anything.

My novel was also brought to a standstill. What I've been working toward since I was little, my own publication, that's never going to happen by now. My writer's block has been going since I finished I'm Glad You Came, and has not improved in the slightest.

I will be leaving the writing world. If I update anything, I will update Ask the Olympians. I will likely be taking Happy and How to Save a Life off my profile entirely.

Apologies to anyone who liked my work. I know writer's block is a common thing, and I know that it can be helped, but I don't think it's worth the effort anymore.

I will post something if I suddenly get inspired. If it goes away on its own accord, I will write another story. But for now, I am done.

Xoxo, Binna


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